


Where Do We Start?

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 14:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17920397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: This should have been the happiest day of Greg's life, marrying the love of his life. How did it all fall apart so suddenly? (Spoiler, happy ending so don't worry).





	Where Do We Start?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mottlemoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/gifts).



> Written for the Mystrade prompt challenge Mottlemoth set up in October, sorry it has taken so long.
> 
> Mystrade Prompt Challenge: EASY  
> October 2018
> 
> Your dialogue: "Where do we start?"
> 
> The circumstances...  
> just before dawn
> 
> And you must use the word...  
> half-hearted

Greg eventually finds Mycroft in the murky predawn light, sitting on the mossy ground at the far end of the hotel grounds, leaning against a tree trunk and staring out at the valley beyond the split rail fence, the first pinks and oranges lighting up the sky with the approaching dawn. His jacket is in a heap nearby, his waistcoat unbuttoned, tie loosened and collar undone. He doesn't acknowledge Greg's arrival at all, even though he must have heard him stumbling through the undergrowth in the near dark, using the torch on his phone to light the way.

“Myc?? You in there?” Greg asks, crouching in front of him and blocking his view.

Mycroft simply stares right through him, as if he weren't even there, barely even blinking. This close Greg can see the pallor of his skin, the way he is shivering in the morning chill, and the way that his eyes are rimmed red and bloodshot, the dried tracks of tears marking his cheeks.

Greg places one hand on his shoulder and shakes gently, almost afraid of what will happen if he _does_ get a response. “Myc, come back to the hotel, you've been out here for hours, you'll catch your death.”

Mycroft huffs, if Greg didn't know better he would think he was amused, “Wouldn't that be better for everyone involved, if I just turned up dead and you could do whatever you wanted without worrying about me?”

“What the hell? No! No that wouldn't be better.”

Mycroft gives a half-hearted shrug, “Certainly looked like it.”

Greg sighs and sits himself down next to Mycroft, careful not to touch. The damp seeps through his trousers almost instantly, and he is suddenly even more worried about just how cold Mycroft must be. He takes a second to marvel at the way the reds and oranges of dawn have taken hold of the clouds in the few seconds since he last looked at the sky and then, only then, let's himself do what he has wanted to do for the last four hours since Mycroft ran out of their wedding reception into the night. He lets himself cry.

Large teardrops roll down his cheeks and drop onto what was once the new suit that he wore to marry the love of his life, but after hours of searching woodland, and a brief encounter with some barbed wire where the hotel grounds bordered a farmer's field, is now more of a collection of dirty rags. He feels Mycroft's breath on his cheek, knows he must have turned to look at him, but suddenly can't muster the strength to look back. The hours of worry, despair, and now relief have all caught up with him and he has to let it out.

“Why did you come to find me?”

Greg laughs humourlessly and turns towards him, “You’re my husband, what was I supposed to do when you flounced out of the fire exit at our wedding reception?

Mycroft shrugs, “I don’t know? Maybe continue flirting with your ex and take him up to our honeymoon suite for a quick shag.”

“What?!?!”

“Why did you marry me anyway? Did you feel sorry for me? That’s it isn’t it? You’d be better off without me.”

Greg takes a big, shuddering breath and lets it out slowly, “Maybe I was flirting a little, but I was nowhere near even kissing Andy, let alone taking him upstairs. And he’s not my ex. Ok, so we had a few fumbles back, what? 20, 25 years ago, but since then we’ve been mates. That’s it.”

Mycroft shakes his head in disbelief and Greg pulls him into a hug, which Mycroft accepts only reluctantly.

“Sweetheart, did you take your meds today? Or yesterday?”

Mycroft pulls back and yells right into his face, “This has nothing to do with my fucking medication, how dare you?”

“OK, sorry. Its just been a busy few days and you just seem a bit....”

“Crazy? I’m not crazy!”

“Hey, hey. I didn’t say you were. But the meds just help you keep all your emotions in balance, and it seems like maybe you’re a bit....wobbly right now. That’s all. If you had missed a dose or two it might...”

“Excuse your behaviour?”

“No. Myc, seriously, I didn’t do anything, I didn’t want to do anything, not with him or anyone else. I love you.”

“Why?” Mycroft whines plaintively.

Greg sighs, “Because you’re brilliant, and funny, and I trust you and we have so much fun together. Please tell me if you missed a dose.”

Mycroft looks away and mumbles, “I forgot to pack them, I haven’t had any since we came up here three days ago.”

“Oh, Myc..”

“I’ve done it before, it wasn’t a problem. It doesn’t affect me going without, I’m not sure I even need them anymore.”

“Says the man sitting on the ground, in the dark, in the woods. Last time you missed some you weren’t getting married, you weren’t dealing with your entire extended family around you, let alone my family. Weddings are hard even if you’ve got all your emotions in check.”

“You were flirting, on our wedding night, with another man. I have a right to be upset.”

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe. I admit I was a bit tipsy, maybe went a bit too far. But can we calm down and not make any life changing decisions here, like this, please? We need to sort this out.”

Mycroft snaps, “Fine,” then continues more calmly, “Where do we start?”

“Come with me, back to the hotel. I’ll get Anthea to get you your meds, get a prescription filled from a local pharmacy or something. We’ll get warm and dry and have some sleep while we’re waiting. I’ll take the couch if you want.”

“And what will that solve?”

“I just think, come the morning, things might look different. Just, before you say we are over, please get a few doses inside you and make sure you aren’t hungover, exhausted and suffering from hypothermia. If you’re still angry with me then, we can deal with it.”

“These are my emotions, they are real, you don’t get to say they don’t matter just because I’m not medicated.”

Greg grabs Mycroft's flailing hand and hurries to correct him, “No, no, I'm not saying that. I know you feel like this now. But. Myc, how are you feeling? What do you feel? Just, name the emotions for me.”

Mycroft clenches his jaw and goes back to staring at the sunrise.

“Please, tell me what you’re feeling?”

Mycroft huffs and mumbles, “Angry, sad, tired, resigned, confused, despair, worthlessness, helpless...I, I don’t know.”

“That’s a lot.” Greg raises their joined hands to his lips and kisses Mycroft's knuckles, “I know you tend to spiral a bit. Come on, you know this. I’m not saying what you’re feeling isn’t real, just that, maybe, its got a bit jumbled. I’m not asking you to promise me anything, I’ll even book into a separate room if you want. Please Myc, just get yourself on an even keel before you break up with me.”

“You’d be better off.”

“With Andy?? No. He’s a good mate, but he couldn’t be faithful if he tried, serial cheater that one. He’s good for a laugh, but that's it. I don’t want him, I want you.”

Mycroft chews on his lip and swallows hard a few times.

“You do trust me, don’t you Myc? You always have before. Come on, back where its warm. Even, oh god, even if we are over, I don’t want you getting ill.” Greg rises to his feet, aware of the uncomfortably damp fabric of his trousers clinging to his legs, and holds out a hand for Mycroft to take. “Please.”

For a moment Greg thinks Mycroft is going to refuse to go with him, but then he hauls himself stiffly to his feet, not taking Greg’s hand or even looking at him.

They walk back to the hotel is silence. Now that the sun is over the horizon it is far easier to make it through the undergrowth, and they are soon stumbling into reception. They walk straight past the astonished staff who are eyeing their dishevelled appearance warily and up the sweeping staircase to their room.

  
Three days later Greg stands outside the door of the honeymoon suite hoping desperately that today will be the day that Mycroft will let him in to talk. He’s spent the last few days sitting in a double room down the corridor by himself, instead of enjoying the sun and sea of the Canary Islands as he should have been had everything gone to plan.

The occasional updates from Anthea, John and Mycroft’s mum had been increasingly hopeful, until this morning they finally told him that Mycroft was ready to talk.

He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, in equal parts desperate to get inside the room and ready to run away. Only a few seconds later Mycroft opens the door, and Greg has to fight his impulse to hug him tight and never let go. Instead he gives him a wavering smile.

“Hi. You, um, you’re feeling better?”

Mycroft nods and steps back to let Greg in, he can’t seem to meet Greg’s eye, looking everywhere but directly at him, and Greg starts bracing himself, it looks like this is the end.

“Do you want a drink? Food? I can get you something.” Mycroft asks fiddling with the individually wrapped teabags next to the tiny kettle.

Greg shakes his head, then belatedly realises that Mycroft still isn’t looking at him so stutters out a refusal.

Mycroft clicks the kettle on, then off, then on again and straightens up the sugar sachets, leaving Greg standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Myc? Can we, can we talk now? Please? I know this can’t be easy but I really need...”

“I’m sorry!!” Mycroft blurts out before Greg has even finished his sentence, and then his shoulders drop and he starts sobbing.

Greg blinks at him in shock and takes a step towards him. “What, why? What are you sorry for?”

“I ruined everything. I was so stupid and I ran out and ruined our wedding night and, and, everything.”

Greg moves to stand directly behind Mycroft and gently lays a hand on his shoulder, ready to snatch it back if Mycroft showed any sign of being unhappy with being touched. “No. It was my fault. I should never have invited him, it was a stupid idea. Things between us might have been a long time ago but it was thoughtless of me.”

Mycroft turns around, and at last manages to look at Greg, “No. He’s your friend. I was being ridiculous.”

“No, you were right, it was in bad taste, flirting with him was...”

“You always flirt with everyone, it never normally bothers me, it was me.”

Greg grins, “This is getting silly. Looks like we both want to take the blame.”

Mycroft lips quirk in a tiny smile, “It certainly looks that way.”

“Shall we just call it even and move on?”

“Really? You don’t want to divorce me?”

Greg laughs, “Me divorce you? I thought it was going to be the other way around.”

Mycroft gasps, “Never.”

“Excellent. Can I?” Greg leans in a little and looks down at Mycroft’s lips.

In lieu of response Mycroft closes the gap and kisses his husband gently, and only breaks away to giggle when Greg pinches his bum.

They stand in each other's arms silently marvelling at the fact that they are allowed to. After a few minutes Greg whispers, “How are you really? Are you ok?”

Greg feels rather than sees Mycroft nod his head against his shoulder. “I am doing well, Anthea arranged for my doctor to visit and she...had some strong words with me about taking better care of myself.”

Greg makes an encouraging noise, he had heard about the doctors visit, but no details about what had happened while she was there.

“It is going to take a little longer before I am completely stable. She is adjusting some of my meds.”

“Good, I'm glad you're being looked after, let me know if I can do anything to help.”

Mycroft extricates himself from Greg's arms and looks earnestly into his eyes, “You forgiving me for my unfounded allegations and ridiculous behaviour is more than enough.”

“Hey, we’re not going back to that argument again, we’ll be going around in circles all day If we do that.”

“Sorry.”

Greg giggles and places a smacking kiss on Mycroft's cheek, “None of that now. I think I know how we can make it up to each other.”

“Do you now?”

“Yep. There's a big empty bed over there that was promised a night of debauchery and we both let it down terribly, shall we make good on that now?”

Mycroft takes Greg by the hand and leads him to the bed, and as he fumbles with the fastening of Greg's trousers he murmurs into his ear, “I seem to remember similar promises being made to a suite in the Canary Islands. I'll get Anthea to organise flights for the morning so we can make good on those too.”

They tumble into the mattress together and make sure not to get up again until the furniture has been fully satisfied.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I had the first part of this written ages ago, but I had some trouble with the reconciliation. I hope that it has worked out ok. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :-)
> 
> P.s. if I have made any horrible errors regarding medication and mental health issues please let me know. I did do a little research but have no personal experience with these things.
> 
> P.p.s I can't remember if there was a collection I should be adding this to, if anyone knows please let me know. Thanks.
> 
> *Edit* - I am very honoured that [frenchposie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenchposie/pseuds/frenchposie) has written a fic inspired by this one - [The Hardest Thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106529).


End file.
